We spent yesterday in Keswick, in the Lake District. We spent the morning at Castlerigg, a stone circle older than Stonehenge. When we started doing yoga in the center, all the other tourists were scared away. We then spent the rest of the day doing laundry, shopping, and waiting for an ineffectual drying room to dry our boots. That night we had what Emma, the cook for the day, referred to as “the best dinner of the trip.” But then, it’s only been a week now.
Besides some minor breakdowns, we are all well. We have been well-fed with pasties and our suitcases are full of souvenirs. We have also had excellent literary experiences, including trespassing to look at Coleridge’s home at night.
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